Palmistry
by Ssenillek Reh
Summary: Official HIATUS - sorry guys. AU/AH. Edward runs from his traumatic past, and eventually learns to come to terms with it all by way of an eccentric girl he happens to fall in love with. Rating subject to change.
1. moja

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight, because if I did, there _prahhhbably_ would have been some sort of a steamy sex scene in it. Consider this story officially disclaimed.

**A/N:** Woo, me! It's not the story behind Trick or Treat, oops. This other idea grabbed me by the hair and demanded to be written - blame my stepdad for the reasoning behind it all.

For Kelly and Jay, because they are the epitome of awesome squared times amazing.

* * *

I couldn't do this.

I couldn't. Why had I come here? Running from everything wouldn't help me and damnit, I _knew_ that.

Too bad I always seemed to run when the going got tough – too bad _I_ wasn't tough enough to handle it.

While my inner debate raged on, the door I was standing in front of flew open with a bang, and I jumped at the loud noise. Standing at her full four feet and eleven inches was Alice Cullen, hands on her hips, smiling so hugely you'd think she won the fucking lottery or something.

"Edward!" she sang joyously, and her voice sounded like the tinkling of small bells. "I've been waiting for you!"

I sighed in exasperation, running a hand over my face tiredly. "I know, Ally." It was why I hadn't bothered calling to tell her I was coming – my cousin was psychic, the real deal, and I knew she'd See me arriving at her doorstep before I even started on the journey here. "It's good to see you again."

"Damn straight, it's good to see me again," Alice growled playfully, grabbing my two suitcases and hauling them through the doorway, ushering me in as well. "It's been far too long since I've seen you, you know. I kept Seeing you _almost_ calling, but you never did. You should have called." Her glare faded by the end of her tiny speech, and concern leaked from her big blue eyes in waves.

I could only repeat my earlier statement – "I know, Ally" – and pull her into a monstrous hug, crushing her small frame to mine. She sighed and wrapped her arms around me, squeezing tightly. I knew it was her way of telling me she was here for me.

Alice pulled back after a few moments, wiping away tears that weren't there with the back of her hand. "So!" she chirped happily. "You'll be staying in the guest room on the right – you'll like that one better, trust me." She grinned infectiously at me, and I smiled back at her.

"I'm really glad to see you, Alice."

My eyes held the 'thank you' I couldn't say, and I knew she saw it.

* * *

"Edward! Edward, come down, please. Tanya's here!"

The young man grinned to himself and stayed where he was. Tanya was a leech, desperate to be the armcandy of the prettiest thing she could find, and he had no desire to see her, now or ever.

He knew his mother would understand. She always did.

"Edward!" His door opened slightly, and Elizabeth Masen poked her head in the room, concerned. She saw him laying on his bed, flipping through one of his recent favorites, _Blood and Chocolate_, and her green eyes grinned mischievously. "Oh, sweetie," she crooned, "are you not feeling well?"

"Not well at _all_, Mother," he said solemnly, eyes never leaving his book. "I don't think I can handle any visitors today." He finally looked up at his mother, smirking playfully.

She laughed softly, and he relished the sound; his mother's laugh was gold, the purest symphony. "I suppose I'll let Miss Tanya know that she'll be missing out on your company today, then. Feel better, son." With an exaggerated wink, she closed the door.

He laughed and returned to his book, shaking his head slightly.

He loved his mother.

* * *

"Come on, Edward," Alice pleaded. "You've been cooped up in this house _forever_. You need to get out, see the sights, enjoy life!"

I glared at her and she simply stared back at me, unimpressed. It had been three weeks since I showed up at Alice's, and I hadn't been able to muster up enough energy to at least make it _look_ like I was making an effort.

"Just come with me to work today," Alice continued, ignoring my almost-silent huff of irritation. "You don't have to stay there, you can walk around, explore the city. It's a great place, if you just give it a chance."

I rolled my eyes; she wouldn't give up any time soon. "Alright, Alice, fine. Give me ten minutes to get ready."

Alice let out a tiny squeal – as if she didn't already know I'd concede to her – and bounced over to me, pecking me on the cheek before flying to the kitchen. "Thank you so much, Edward! I just _know_ you'll have a good time. I know it."

I smiled, maybe a little ruefully, and headed to my room to change.

* * *

"Edward? Dinner's ready, honey." Liz opened the door to her son's room only to find him laying in his bed, sans book, with the covers pulled up to his chin. His eyes were half-closed, and she could see the sweat collecting on his forehead. "Oh, Edward," she cried, dashing to his side and placing her hand on his cheek, "what happened? You look terrible."

He managed a weak smile for his mother, but the next second found him coughing explosively, leaving no room to breathe. "I'm fine, Mother," he gasped once it was over, tears gathering in his eyes. "It's just a little bug – karma for ditching Tanya today."

Despite her worry, Liz laughed along with her son, though she noticed his laugh was hoarse and almost nonexistent. "Don't worry about dinner, Edward. Sleep for now; it'll do you some good. I'll bring some soup up for you later." She bent down to kiss his forehead, then secured the blankets around him and headed for the door.

"I love you, Mom." She turned back to look at him. His eyes were closed, but a sweet smile played at his lips.

"I love you too, honey. Sleep well."

* * *

Alice owned a psychic shop – surprise, surprise. I spent the morning looking around her shop alone, investigating the different books on fate and religion, looking over the elaborate pictures of fairies and toadstools, and sniffing out all the different fragrances of incense.

It was too much. I had to get the hell out.

Without mentioning anything to Alice – as if I needed to actually _tell_ her – I bolted for the door, cringing at the clanging sound of bells when it opened, and relished in the sun shining down on me – in the time I'd been here, this was the first sunlight I'd experienced. I tilted my face toward the sun, soaking in as much of the heat as I could. When I started seeing white spots dance behind my eyelids, I looked down the street, away from the sun, to see if there was anything able to distract me from myself.

A nail salon, a tiny Mexican restaurant, a liquor store…

A small bookstore sat squished between a dance studio and a Starbucks, looking decidedly out of place. Before I knew what I was doing, my feet were taking me to the small store.

I loved books. Anything to help me escape from reality. They were a gift from God.

I crossed the street absentmindedly, ignoring the single car that had to slow down so it wouldn't run me over, and investigated the windows of the bookstore.

They were neat, sparkling clean, with books laid out neatly on mismatching cushions and in gaudy display cases. The rest of the store behind the window was filled with case upon case, row upon row of books, and was dimly lit – in one corner, I saw two very comfortable-looking loveseats, just waiting for some unsuspecting souls to be swallowed up in them.

The store appeared to be empty, but the lights _were_ on, and the door – a heavy, old-fashioned thing – was unlocked, so I went right on in, eager to peruse the shelves for a familiar title.

There was no rhyme or reason to the shelves – books were packed pell-mell onto them, as if a child threw them randomly together. _Pride and Prejudice_ sat next to _Interview with a Vampire_, and _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ was resting on top of _The Fountainhead_. Despite the fact that I normally hated anything out of place, the shelves fascinated me as I tried to find any sort of order to the haphazardly-stacked books.

I spent more time in there than I had originally planned, caught up as I was in the _variety_ of books in the tiny store. I was examining one shelf in particular, which hosted an entire collection of Shakespeare, including books on his life and interpretations of his plays, when I tripped over something in the aisle and grabbed onto the bookcase in an effort to keep from falling over, which resulted in half of Shakespeare's plays, including _Macbeth_ and _Julius Caesar_, to slip casually off the shelf.

"Well, _that_ was far more interesting than I thought it would be."

It was then that I realized that the _something_ I had tripped over had, in fact, been a _someone_, and that someone was a girl who was peering up at me amusedly from behind glasses and messy bangs.

* * *

**A/N:** Ohbytheway, in case you couldn't tell... the third person POV? Yeah, they're memories. Flashbacks. Whatever.

Lemme know what you think. :]

-Kel

PS. In other good news, line breaks seem to agree with me again. :]


	2. mbili

**A/N:** Next chapter! Sorry it took so long - I had no muse.

Blame the three essays I've been putting off in English (because no, Christine, I still haven't written them).

Thank Katie (muggleinlove) for this chapter - _Between Love and Duty_ somehow gave me the inspiration to finish this sucker. Seriously, go bug her. She deserves every review she gets. :]

* * *

The girl was plain, at first sight – brown hair and eyes, pale skin to match the perpetual cloud cover of this city, rather petite – but something made me look closer, and I saw the way her dark hair shined, the hidden knowledge in her deep eyes, the creamy quality of her flawless skin.

She was beautiful.

And I was staring at her like a complete moron.

"I am _so_ sorry," I managed to choke out, fumbling under her amused gaze. "Are you alright?"

She smiled brightly up at me, brushing away the thick bangs that fell in front of her eyes. "It's alright, no harm done." Her voice was music, the most calming symphony.

"Are you sure?" I wasn't the lightest person around – being tripped over had to hurt.

The girl rolled her eyes, though a small smile played at her lips. "Alright, fine, so my arm stings a bit. I've had far worse. Trust me, the pain doesn't even register anymore."

"Please, let me at least take a look at it." I still felt incredibly guilty – how could I _not notice_ this beauty, sitting right in front of me?

"Don't feel guilty," she said seriously, picking up on my expression. "It seemed pretty easy to miss me – you looked really into your examination. It's my fault anyway, sitting down here where no one can see me." She laughed lightly, and I unconsciously committed the sound to memory. It was beautiful – birdsong in June.

I looked at her arm, which was a little red from the impact. "I'm so sorry," I couldn't help but repeat – I _had_ been raised properly. Cringing away from thoughts of my mother, I held my hand out to the girl's, intent on helping her up.

She looked up at me, ready to protest, but something in my expression must have told her it was better not to argue. She put her tiny little hand in mine – it felt so small, so fragile, in my own! – and something akin to an electric current passed between us.

My eyes widened. What _was_ that? A spark, a spark of something new, exciting, ran through our joined hands, and I wasn't entirely sure what it meant.

The girl's eyes widened as well, and a strange glint appeared in them. Before I knew it, she was pulling me down beside her (I shouldn't have been surprised at the strength this girl exerted – Alice was the tiniest person I knew, other than children, and she was one of the most forceful people I'd ever known – but I was), saying, "Why don't you sit down here with me, instead?"

She took me by surprise, and I tumbled down to the floor ungracefully, hitting the back of my head on a nearby shelf. I struggled to right myself, feeling my face heat up slightly, but the girl didn't relinquish her hold on my hand. She held onto it tightly, using both of her hands, tracing the lines on my palm softly, examining them closely.

I shivered.

She stared for a good thirty seconds more, then muttered something lowly – something about palmistry? – and dropped my hand suddenly, as if it had burned her. "I'm sorry," she apologized solemnly.

Something in her tone made me think that she wasn't apologizing for tugging me down to the floor – a fair retribution for tripping over her, I admitted to myself – so I asked, "Sorry for what?"

"For what happened."

I stared at her intently, trying to deduce what was going on in her strange mind. What was she talking about? The only terribly tragic thing that had happened recently was –

No. No way.

I gaped at her, astonished. Was she talking about what I thought she was talking about? How would she know about that?

"What – how –" I couldn't get a coherent thought out.

"You're Mary Alice's cousin," she stated simply, looking quite contrite. "I'm sorry to have brought that up. My mouth sometimes runs a little ahead of my brain."

"No, no, it's fine." My head was still reeling. How was this girl so damn astute?

"It's not." She was still frowning, and the look was so out of place on her shockingly lovely face.

"Really, it's okay," I assured her – and it wasn't a lie, like it had been to everyone else. I didn't know what it was, but the pain wasn't as fresh, as stinging, as before.

Was I finally going insane?

I was brought out of my inner turmoil by her sweet voice, saying, "Alright then, if you say so."

I smiled down at her. "I do."

She grinned back. "Well, then," she said, apparently satisfied. "What brings you to this little corner of the street?"

"I love books," I replied, unconsciously looking around me at the vast number of books again. "This place is amazing."

"Thank you." The girl beamed at me, and it occurred to me, belatedly, that I had no idea who she was, or how she knew me or my cousin.

"I'm sorry, but…" I paused, somehow not wanting to offend her, but my burning curiosity won out over the desire to blindly talk to her as if I'd always known her. "You already seem to know who I am – who are you?"

To my surprise, she blushed a light shade of red, squeezing her eyes shut in embarrassment. "How silly of me," she murmured to herself. "I'm Bella," she said simply, and she smiled contentedly, playing with the needles in her lap – I was immediately sidetracked.

Knitting needles?

This girl was extraordinary. Something in me demanded to know more about her.

"So, Bella," I started casually, making myself comfortable – I wouldn't need to leave with Alice for another four hours, according to my watch – "what compels you to _knit_, of all things, in this fine little bookstore?"

She giggled at me, looking back down at her lap to count her stitches. "There's nothing else to do around here," she explained, tugging on the yarn and undoing a stitch. "I've been meaning to give this to my mother for _years_, but I never got around to finishing it. I decided I should get a move on – Christmas is only six months away, you know." She nodded seriously, peeking up at me over her glasses.

I couldn't help but laugh at the strange girl. She was refreshing, different than the girls I was used to seeing.

She was real.

"I like you, Bella," I told her, and even I was shocked at the thought blurting from my mouth without my mind's permission – I usually had a better filter than this.

But all she responded with was a bright smile and a happy "I like you, too," before going back to her knitting.

* * *

He didn't know what to do. His life had been ripped from him so suddenly, so harshly.

He was lost, and he didn't know where to turn.

Memories played through his head relentlessly, ruthlessly, and he let out a strangled sob as the flow of tears started again.

They were gone. Gone in a matter of days. Both of them, when they all least expected it.

And it was all his fault. His fucking fault.

He gasped for air, struggling to breathe, and collapsed next to the bed with the deathly white sheets that hid the deathly white body.

His hand kept a firm grip on hers. Because if he let go, if he admitted to himself that this _had_ happened, that it wasn't some sort of gruesome nightmare, sent to him from the fieriest pits of hell… he didn't know what he would do.

What he _could_ do.

Without them, he was nothing.

He finally passed out – a lack of oxygen from crying too hard – and was admitted to a different room. He was hooked up to an IV and was put on suicide watch, though he didn't wake for two days.

And when he woke up, they were gone.

* * *

I ended up sitting with Bella for hours, sometimes talking, sometimes reading, sometimes just staring off into space.

When we did talk, it was about inconsequential things – I told her about Chicago, the wonder the sprawling city possessed, the variety of things to do there, and how different it was from here, where everything looked so drab and lifeless – and she told me about her eccentric mother, with new passions every week, ranging from pottery to yoga to palmistry to knitting, how she obtained a chef's degree at some prestigious school, and how she loved the rainy city, loved how the rare sunlight made the wet landscape sparkle, how no one knew how to drive properly, how she preferred to get lost around the city, exploring for days and still not knowing half its secrets.

She was an enigma.

We were in the middle of debating _Julius Caesar_ – she held adamantly that Brutus had been manipulated by Cassius into murdering Caesar, while I argued that all Cassius did was nudge him in the right direction, because he was already contemplating disposing of the emperor – when my half-forgotten and rarely-used phone vibrated in my pocket.

I took it out and read the new text message: _I'm ready to leave when you are, Edward. Have fun exploring?_

Alice. I checked the time and, sure enough, it was time for me to leave. Hours had passed by in what seemed like only minutes.

I straightened from my slouch against a shelf hosting both Agatha Christie and Ayn Rand, stretching out languidly and popping my back in several places. Bella looked over at me, absent-mindedly placing her mother's half-finished scarf to the side. She got up fluidly – I had never seen anyone go from sitting to standing so gracefully before – and offered me her hand, eyes sparkling.

I chuckled and took her hand, lifting myself up without too much difficulty, though I'd been sitting cross-legged for hours. I didn't let go of her hand – holding it just seemed natural – and I noticed that she made no move to disentangle our fingers, either.

"I had a nice time talking to you," I told her softly, admiring her – not her looks this time, but just who she _was_. "It's been a while since I've really been able to talk to someone like that."

She smiled at me; it wasn't her bright grin, but a muted, understanding smile that was somehow more beautiful than the other. "I know what you mean," she murmured, running her thumb soothingly against mine. "Thanks for just sitting with me. It's… refreshing."

I didn't know what to say to that – I couldn't just _not_ have sat with her, talked with her. She was far too entrancing. "Do you need a ride home?" I asked her, glancing out the window and seeing that the sun had almost disappeared entirely from the sky.

"Oh, no." She laughed lightly, and I smiled at the sound. "I don't need a ride."

"Then how will you get home?" There hadn't been a car outside, and she couldn't be considering walking home. This wasn't Chicago, but nights were dangerous anywhere, and she should know that.

"I am home, silly."

I blinked.

What?

"This is my home. I own this store."

I blinked again.

She smiled at me, vibrant and bright and happy once more.

* * *

**A/N:** The flashback things will come and go - sometimes there'll be a lot, sometimes none, in a chapter. It all depends on when Edward decides it all.

You should leave a review - reviews make me smile. Lemme know what yerr thinking - about this story, about the weather, whatever. :]


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